


Roost

by QuillFeathers



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Birds, Childhood Memories, Developing Relationship, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, M/M, Reconciliation, falconry/hawking, pre to post-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23610301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuillFeathers/pseuds/QuillFeathers
Summary: Dimitri makes an affirmative noise. Then he takes a breath, voice leveling out into what Felix had long ago dubbed his 'future king voice', all steady explanation: “Long ago, the saying fledged right along with the nobles' and royal family's love of hawking, and it has remained a common phrase from one generation to the next. As adviser to the king, the duke is meant to be regal and strong, even deadly when required, from his place at the king's side. To always act as the most piercing, watchful eyes over the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and her sovereign."He looks over to Felix as soon as his mouth snaps shut on the final word, as always seeking approval on his recitations.Felix tilts his head, trying to look unimpressed. “I like eagles.”A hand automatically comes up to cover the lower half of Dimitri's face, muffling the inarticulate sound of a snort of amusement. “That is good, since you are to be mine.”They say an eagle watches over Fhirdiad.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 48
Kudos: 124





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick note: I am not totally sticking to historic falconry. For example: species like gyrfalcons and peregrines were actually viewed as the “most valuable” birds, but this is cold and rough-terrain Faerghus! So we be using eagles.

_A nest full of childhood memories,_

_teetering on a branch in high wind._

  
An eagle watches over Fhirdiad. 

Felix hears this phrase for years as a child; from the mouths of villagers, merchants, knights, and attendants alike, but it doesn't occur to him to ask what it means until he is nine years old.

The market within the capital is busy this time of year, but Felix's young ears still manage to catch the end of the familiar sentence, picking out the words on the air above the din of haggling and children playing. He stops to peer over his shoulder, eyes landing on a woman that he and Glenn have just passed. She leans down to be more on level with what must be her son, the younger boy's gaze passing over Felix to lock somewhere behind him.

The woman's mouth opens to continue speaking, but there's a tug on Felix's arm, and his attention is snatched away in order to shake off his brother.

“Keep up,” Glenn chides, not grabbing for him again but wearing a look of disapproval. “What were you looking at?”

“Father is right there,” Felix hisses, ignoring the question, because the duke has indeed halted to talk to some other patron just a few strides ahead. Stubbornly clutching his arm in a bid for Glenn to leave him alone he turns away again, but the woman is now talking to a stall owner, her explanation long given.

Glenn huffs at his frown. “What is it then?”

Felix ignores him again to look up against the sun, past its harsh reflection off stained glass and onwards to the castle's peaks. “Is there really an eagle up there?”

“What _are_ you on about?” Glenn mutters. He raises a hand to shield his eyes and looks up, too.

Felix stiffens, thrusting an insistent pointer finger up into the air, determined to not sound daft. “People always talk about an eagle, here. That watches the city. Is there a statue?” After a moment he lowers his voice, more serious. “The Empire?”

“No, definitely not that,” Glenn laughs much too loudly. Felix tries to shove him when a passerby gives them both an amused glance, but Glenn just ruffles his hair. “It's symbolic.” 

“ _What_ is,” Felix pouts, gloved hands now defensively covering his head. Glenn has a shit-eating grin on his face. Felix lifts a foot off the ground in warning. “I don't see a statue.”

“Statue?”

Both boys straighten, Glenn certainly not on the verge of putting Felix in a headlock and Felix certainly not on the verge of kicking him in the shin. Their father has finished his conversation, a raised eyebrow directed at his eldest. Glenn only shrugs, remaining unhelpful.

Felix crosses his arms. Refrains from stomping his foot back down. “Is there a statue of a bird at the top of the castle?”

A brief puzzled look, brow creasing, but then his father starts to smile. Before he answers, though, there's a shifting in the crowd. Voices rise slightly, and there's a telltale clinking of armored feet. Shoppers part in front of the Fraldarius family, the space already automatically given to them tripling to accommodate the arrival of the king and a couple of knights.

The duke catches Felix's eye with a look of _later_.

Felix quietly huffs through his nose as he bows, but his annoyance dissolves when Dimitri steps into view. 

Fine. Dimitri would tell him.

“Glenn was teasing you,” the young prince grins at Felix a few hours later. “There is no statue. And it definitely does not have anything to do with the Empire.”

Of course Dimitri would know the whole history of the saying.

Felix swings his feet over the floor from the bench he's perched on. They are sitting next to each other in the library, surrounded by walls and walls of books that could give any detail he'd ever want about any of Faerghus' oaths and phrases and traditions, but Dimitri is better than any book.

“Why didn't Glenn just _say_ so, then? He thought it was a funny question.”

Dimitri continues to grin at him, holding onto the answer, until Felix stops fidgeting and narrows his eyes in accusation. “It is...a bit funny. Because the eagle symbolizes the king's adviser.”

Felix blinks. “My father?”

Swinging his own legs now, Dimitri nods. “It is an old saying.”

“Every saying is an old saying.” Felix tilts his head, looking at nothing in particular while his eyes scan a random shelf of old texts. “Is it because he watches over the king and kingdom? Like an eagle watching from the top of a tree?”

Dimitri makes an affirmative noise. Then he takes a breath, voice leveling out into what Felix had long ago dubbed his 'future king voice', all steady explanation: “Long ago, the saying fledged right along with the nobles' and royal family's love of hawking, and it has remained a common phrase from one generation to the next. As adviser to the king, the duke is meant to be regal and strong, even deadly when required, from his place at the king's side. To always act as the most piercing, watchful eyes over the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and her sovereign."

He looks over to Felix as soon as his mouth snaps shut on the final word, as always seeking approval on his recitations.

Felix tilts his head, trying to look unimpressed. “I like eagles.”

A hand automatically comes up to cover the lower half of Dimitri's face, muffling the inarticulate sound of a snort of amusement. “That is good, since you are to be mine.”

Felix rolls his eyes, but he's grinning, too. “Ew.”

Dimitri is still covering his mouth, but Felix can still tell that he has a huge smile on his face. Again. Felix battles between bashfulness and pride, tilting his chin up despite the slight warmth on his face.

“I'll be all those things that you said.”

Dimitri's hand drops. “I will ask father if we can visit the mews tomorrow.”

The smile is still there. Felix smiles back.

Much to the delight of them both, the king and duke actually take them out hawking the next morning.

The first time Felix had been allowed hunting, he had been taught that hawking could be as much of a diplomatic setting as sitting at a conference table. There is time for talk between slips and catches, and birds were often presented as gifts between the Kingdom, Empire, and Alliance.

“It is as much sport as a conversation starter,” his father had said. “Much like any formal dinner.”

Felix prefers to just watch the animals work, and Dimitri has admitted that he just likes being outside.

They barely leave the outskirts of the city, the road still just visible on their left. King Lambert waves off the three knights that escort them past the walls one by one until it is just the five of them out in the nearby fields. The guards will not really return all the way to the castle of course, but it still creates the illusion of freedom.

It is spring though, and even in the chilly air of early light there is life everywhere, contagious in its call for movement in the fading of winter's clutches. Felix makes Glenn come to a stop so he can dismount from where they are riding double, and Dimitri quickly follows. The two of them kick up pollen and insects from the tall grass as they run ahead of the walking horses, until Dimitri unintentionally flushes a grouse. The prince yelps, narrowly avoiding getting smacked in the face by the bird's short wings and almost falling over backward in surprise. Glenn and the adults all burst into various levels of laughter.

Felix reflexively reaches to steady Dimitri.

“Thanks,” Dimitri whispers in embarrassment, brushing off debris that had been kicked up from his trousers.

“You practically stepped on it!” Felix says, swallowing his own amusement.

The sound of rustling heralds Glenn dismounting just behind them. “You make for a very good hunting dog, Your Highness,” he teases, “but you're not supposed to flush the _whole_ field.”

Predictably, Dimitri flushes further.

Felix shoots Glenn a glare, taking Dimitri's wrist again and tugging him a step forward. “He wasn't _that_ loud. We'll find more.”

They all look back to the king, who is handing his actual eagle off to his adviser so that he can more easily dismount.

A gorgeous dark brown, almost black in color, Anwen is the largest bird in the Fhirdiad mews. At over a meter in length, she is too tall for Felix to easily hold, her wings stretching to almost three meters when fully extended. She steps to Rodrigue's glove with no hesitation, briefly fanning the large wedge-shaped tail typical of her species for balance. The hood covering her head is removed as soon as she resettles, dark amber eyes immediately beginning to survey the surroundings. Older than Glenn, she is well-versed in the routine of a hunting outing, her head swiveling to eye up the field and paying no mind to the three smaller humans watching.

Felix had been quite jealous when they had been taught how to hold the birds—how to keep their arms steady; acting as a branch that could sway in wind or with a turn, but not rotate—because he could not keep his arm level enough for her weight, while Dimitri's slightly greater height and strength enabled him to do so. King Lambert had let Felix hold his vulture, though, which had almost been as cool as the eagle. Felix had seen the carrion-eater perched on the back of the throne before, but never up close. 

Vultures of course do not hunt, but they are smart and inquisitive, symbolizing a myriad of things such as great wisdom, protection, and the balance between life and death. They are also traditionally kept solely by kings and emperors.

The bright contrast of white and black feathers on the vulture's wings against the blues and reds of the bare skin on its head and face was beautiful, but still not as striking as the picture of golden-naped Anwen next to Dimitri's golden hair.

The feathers on the back of Anwen's neck shine in the sun now, morning light glinting off them as she waits for the cue to fly.

Dimitri's father waves at the three of them, gesturing a start.

“Your serving of dessert that I flush the first hare,” Glenn challenges. He begins to move further out, purposefully dragging his feet a bit to disturb the tall grasses.

“Done!” Felix agrees, Dimitri nodding beside him.

Not a quarter-hour later, Felix wins. A hare lunges into motion just in front of him, the simultaneous shouts from the edge of the field heralding Anwen leaving the glove a moment later. Dimitri and Glenn freeze in place so as to not disrupt her flight path, in case her quarry zigzags.

Felix turns just slightly, crouches, and holds his breath.

Hawks of the forest can pivot in an instant, but few species can take anything larger than rabbit. Falcons utilize the speed of their stoop to knock their prey into a stupor (if not instantly kill), but if they miss they usually do not get a second chance. Eagles, though less maneuverable and more difficult to handle, are more powerful and versatile.

Still, pushed off from the glove they are fastest and most successful flying straight, their path sure and deliberate.

Felix's heart hammers as Anwen's huge shadow blurs over his head.

\--------

Per tradition, Felix is gifted his first bird in the early autumn following his twelfth birthday, a juvenile trapped by his father. He chooses a falcon over a hawk, both for its speed and because Glenn had chosen a falcon as his first bird, too. Kestrels, Faerghus' 'starter' longwing species, are not ideal for hunting anything larger than other birds, and small ones at that. They are also known for being more difficult to train than hawks. Often loud and impatient, they are quick to abandon an unfocused and incompetent hunting partner.

Also like Glenn, Felix loves a challenge.

It is no surprise that Rodrigue's first bird had also been a kestrel, nor that all three of these are not captive-bred. Any breeder would be honored to provide a Fraldarius a bird, but naturally his father has to make Felix training his first as much of a _lesson_ as possible.

Lesson one: dedication.

Felix rarely leaves his room for several days. He spends the majority of his time reading or writing in dim light and being very careful not to look directly at the little falcon sitting on his other hand. Said bird is naturally not initially pleased by Felix's presence, but still eats the piece of quail tucked between the glove's fingers. As he (Felix knows it is male based on the smattering of blue on the head and the intensity of the red on its back, which is much less vibrant in females) gets more comfortable and convinced that Felix is in fact not going to hurt him, Felix moves about the room more, and soon Pommel has also figured out that the glove—and Felix—are a good thing via free meals.

Lesson two: awareness.

Animals, and especially birds, are extraordinarily good at hiding illness and injury. As Pommel startles less and less to things such as a door opening it is up to Felix to make sure it is because of his comfort level increasing and _not_ due to lethargy. A slow bird is either a sick bird, a nervous bird, or one that is not hungry. As a longwing, Pommel is easily distracted. When Felix is able to start calling him to the glove from a distance via a short single-note whistle and an offering of meat, it is up to Felix to determine when the falcon is getting bored or full, and therefore when to call it a day. Being overly pushy rarely yields good results. Which leads to—

Lesson three: patience.

Felix likes to see results. It is easy to track Pommel's progress from sitting on the glove calmly to returning to the glove quickly, but those easy steps blur when they leave the fields empty-handed for the fourth outing in a row. Felix does not exactly have an excessive amount of free time, and the failure reflects back on him.

“If you are overly irritated he will know,” Glenn tells him on their way back home. “You'll make him jumpy, and he'll fly off.”

Felix huffs, stepping heavily and only belatedly trying to keep the hand where Pommel sits steady. “I know. But you saw. He didn't even come close to that last quail.”

The sound of steps halts behind him. “I know you know. But he was too tired at that last slip. How are you at swordplay when you're tired, hm?”

Halting with one foot in the air, Felix's own gaze betrays him by flitting worriedly to Pommel. “My life doesn't depend on that.”

Not that the bird has any idea that it is the topic of discussion. He's currently too busy digesting a meal despite not catching it himself.

Glenn puts a hand on his hip. “Don't be ignorant, Felix. It will someday. Were you a master at it the first time you picked a blade up?”

“Ugh,” Felix tilts his head back to stare at the open sky. “When are you going back to the capital again?”

“You're stuck with me for three more weeks.” Glenn strides back up, pausing to poke Felix hard in the shoulder as he passes. “You know what my point is. You have to give the bird time to practice and learn, too.”

Pommel makes his first kill two days later. It is only a young quail with practically no meat on it, but it is a kill nonetheless.

Another two days, and the Fraldarius household is in a state of controlled chaos.

As if the king didn't come to visit annually.

Felix is not exactly supposed to have a bird inside the house now that Pommel is trained, but it's easy to get him upstairs when the staff is focused on dinner and settling their visitors. Well. One of their visitors. The heir to the throne is sitting perfectly still in the room where Felix usually takes lessons while Felix retells how his kestrel had missed the first strike but had chased on to tackle the quarry.

Except really Dimitri is sitting perfectly still while _not_ paying rapt attention while someone else talks, which Felix knows is rare and in this case quite funny. Dimitri is enamored with the little colorful predator currently sitting on his forearm. Felix had not even bothered to grab a glove, Pommel's little talons being too small to pierce through the material of their winter attire.

“You're acting as if you have never seen a falcon before,” Felix teases.

Probably not even aware that he'd been slowly leaning forward to peer intently at the bird, Dimitri quickly straightens. Pommel is abruptly alert as well, leaning back slightly and feathers puffing up, his neck extended as if looking for danger.

Dimitri freezes, looking away to appear less threatening. “Ah.”

“He's fine.” Felix leans over to tap Dimitri's hand, which instantly redirects Pommel's attention. “See? He's not scared of you, he just thought you saw something that made _you_ nervous.”

Dimitri swallows. Nods. Waits for Pommel to lay his feathers flat again before speaking. “Thank you...Glenn said you taught him to hover on cue. Will you show me tomorrow?”

Hovering perfectly in place was a kestrel specialty, and Glenn had taught Felix how to whistle for a suspended 'stay' in the air. If he were older, it would allow him to go hunting alone, Pommel hovering overhead while Felix searched for game below.

“Sure,” he replies, but he can't hold back the grin that splits his lips. “Are you any better at whistling?”

The pry earns him a grimace, which means Dimitri is definitely not any better at it than he was almost a year ago. Felix had heard how his father had spent an embarrassing amount of time one afternoon trying to helpfully describe how to whistle more than the simple one-note recall. That had been on one of his trips to the capital without Felix. It was Glenn who had finally told him to let up when poor Dimitri had been practically forgetting to breathe. Felix supposes even a king-to-be struggles under pressure sometimes. It's not like it was a _real_ problem, anyway. Dimitri couldn't train or keep a bird of his own yet, he was _way_ too busy.

Glancing sideways at Felix, Dimitri tries to replace his uncertainty with cool confidence. “You can just whistle for me.”

“You wish,” Felix immediately counters. “I'm going to make you practice.”

Felix watches in satisfaction as Pommel is more and more successful in hunting over the next few months. Makes sure to feed him extra while he molts in his adult feathers, the blue and red on his head emerging more vibrant as the weather warms. Then he releases the falcon back to the wild in spring, not long after his thirteenth birthday. Per tradition, he is not supposed to purchase or keep one until he is at least fifteen.

This is the final lesson:

Hawking is a partnership. Eagles hunting fox yield fur pelts. A pair of good hawks or falcons can catch game daily and help feed a small company. On the flip side, nature is rather cruel. A bird of prey hatched in spring is something like seventy percent likely to _not_ make it to the next one. The knowledge that he has helped the bird survive its first winter with plenty of food and an abundance of hunting practice is fulfilling. Felix has succeeded.

The bird not only survives—it thrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rl birds to fic birds because why not:  
> Lambert's eagle - a slightly bulkier version of a Wedge-tailed Eagle (Anwen is a Welsh name meaning 'very beautiful')  
> Felix's falcon - American Kestrel (Pommel was cute to me, and kestrels are wee feisty murder machines)  
> vulture - King Vulture (Mayan legends depict King Vultures as messengers between kings and gods, and vultures were only supposed to be kept by emperors/royalty)
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! XD


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is “murder and mayhem” referring to war and Dimitri's state of mind or a group of crows and Felix's inner turmoil?

_A death-defying stoop,_

_towards murder and mayhem._

  
In Imperial Year 1176, what remains of the Fraldarius family travels to Fhirdiad.

The market is noticeably quieter than usual. Felix and Rodrigue receive long glances and a notable increase in bowed heads to their general direction, but no one approaches them. 

Felix and his father do not speak to each other, either.

Upon entering the castle, Rodrigue immediately shuts himself in the council room with other gathered nobility and several members of the Knights of Seiros. There is so much talk of fighting. Pockets of massacre of the Duscur people.

It has hardly been three weeks.

Felix bullies his way through staff and to the infirmary in search of Dimitri. When he barges in unannounced, the head healer merely shakes her head and points him to the mews, threatening to knock _Felix_ unconscious if she has to deal with any more unruly adolescents. Felix tries not to think much about that comment.

This is actually the second time he and his father have been here since the ambush. Since Glenn's death. That first scrambled visit (visit really is not a good word to describe receiving your dead brother's armor in the reception room of your dead king) Dimitri had been in a healing-induced sleep, and Felix had not been permitted to see him. That is not the case anymore.

There's something to be said that his father allows Felix to skip formalities to find the prince before Rodrigue even does, though he does of course have the meeting. And Felix _would_ have chosen to be late to the meeting, waiting nobility and Church members be damned, whether he had to spend time searching out Dimitri or not.

Perhaps his father just does not want to argue.

Another healer and a single knight let him pass unhindered into the familiar line of wooden enclosures that lies past the stables, along the western wall of the castle. Felix can't see Dimitri until he steps right up to the front of the mew Glenn had claimed after he had been knighted. King Lambert had never been over-extravagant with the number of birds he kept, so resident staff were often permitted to keep their birds on grounds without any sort of fee.

Dimitri is out of his guards' line of sight but within shouting distance; sitting on the ground inside the mew, arms wrapped around his bent legs. His head is bowed and pressed right below where Glenn's hawk sits perched upon his knees. Obviously one does not generally let a bird the size of Prowess just sit on them. She could easily squeeze her talons straight through clothes and into Dimitri's skin if she were startled, or if he moved too fast and unbalanced her.

But the brown and white hawk is gently combing her sharp beak through the blond hair at her feet in an imitation of preening feathers. A gesture that is usually only reserved for a handler, mate, or offspring.

Glenn had written about letting Dimitri fly Prowess, even when it was just short flights from glove to glove for pieces of quail. They (or rather mostly Glenn) had evidently been scolded a couple of times for having a bird loose in the courtyards in the middle of the day. Felix had found the retellings hilarious.

His chest clenches tight at that thought at about the same time he has the jarring realization that Dimitri's hair is the shortest he can remember ever seeing it. It does not drape forward to hide the side of his face as it usually would. Seared off by fire. There's bandaging up the back of his neck surely hiding burns, and Felix can just make out other wrappings on the exposed sliver between his sleeve and wool glove.

Prowess stops to peer at Felix as he enters. Dimitri lifts his head but does not turn it, only glancing at Felix when he starts slowly sliding down to the ground beside them. The usual bright blue of Dimitri's eyes is surrounded by puffy red, but his cheeks are currently dry. He looks as if he has not slept in weeks despite having technically just been doing so for almost two.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, until Prowess lifts a leg and stretches a wing, her burnished red tail flaring. Felix catches the subtle flinch Dimitri gives, because she is likely tightening her talons into his clothes to maintain balance. Still, it is only when she puts her foot back down that Dimitri takes a deep breath, voice quiet.

“I could not hold her on my arm for very long. I – I am sorry.”

Felix should maybe comment on the fact that he doesn't see a leather hawking glove anywhere and Dimitri _definitely_ should not have been holding the hawk at all with just his coat on.

“She seems to not mind,” is what he offers instead.

More silence. It is not uncomfortable. Just filled with misery.

Felix does not want to guess what Dimitri is apologizing for.

Prowess rouses: all her feathers rising briefly before she shakes them all back into place. A sign of contentedness. Or comfort.

Dimitri takes another deep breath. “Will you release her?”

Felix exhales. He's already decided, really, but wants to hear someone else agree. Someone besides his father. “If you want me to.”

“I think he would like that. If...only if you agree, Felix.”

Felix nods, shoulders dropping with barely-concealed...relief? He isn't sure. “He would.”

Rodrigue and Felix take Prowess back to Fraldarius, and release her the next spring.

For Felix, it feels like his proper goodbye.

Their childhood has ended.

Felix does not take a bird that next autumn, throwing his all into bladework. Dimitri meanwhile throws himself into improving his skill with lances and also his lessons, even more so than Felix does. The world shifts. Their letters speak more of battle tactics and their visits are filled with sparring, but they are still fairly close.

Dimitri has changed, but Felix supposes so has he.

\--------

Felix was terribly, terribly wrong.

His childhood ends on the blood-soaked and scream-filled field that encompasses the trampling of what would be known as the western rebellion, because surely only a child could have foolishly thought that Dimitri—that anything—was okay.

A battlefield is not pretty. It's not like Felix had thought otherwise.

He expects to see blood.

He did not envision Dimitri covered in it.

He expects to see pain— _feel_ it.

He did not envision Dimitri relishing in it.

(Felix feels pain. It is not physical.)

He expects to see death.

He did not envision Dimitri smiling in it.

All of Felix's lessons mean _nothing_ in the wake of _this_.

Felix is meant to stand by—

There are plenty of stories and accounts of animals killing outside of what nature demands to survive: for food and protection of self or mate or progeny.

Were they not supposed to be better?

Felix is aware that this makes him some sort of hypocrite, seeing as he has blood on his uniform and it is not his own.

Or maybe it doesn't, since the kingdom contains all he loves, and he does want to protect it.

But the kingdom is not what he wants most to protect.

But this is not the Dimitri he knows.

Standing on that battlefield, his heart leaps into his throat. Lodges itself there and doesn't return to its proper place.

This Dimitri is his recurring nightmare. Felix will see it again and again, snap awake—in daylight and in the dark—over and over, and still go to sleep the next night hoping it will somehow dissipate.

Whatever relationship they had explodes like feathers off an attacked pheasant. Except if the bird survived it would grow the feathers back, and Felix and Dimitri are left grounded in grief and rage.

Felix is fifteen, but he does not train another bird.

\--------

The decision to enroll at the Academy is still an easy one. Between lessons and missions, the months fly by, and Felix is stubborn but he isn't naive. It's good for him.

His recurring nightmare is just as stubborn, taking the form of a taller and disgustingly-polite Dimitri who still somehow manages to make Felix think that maybe if he—

Felix accepts that people have differing opinions. He's been grilled enough in his life on compromise and trade-offs, thanks. He _won't_ accept—

He does not know how to—

“You look like you're arguing with yourself again.”

Felix blinks back into focus. Scowls and kicks dust up from the ground of the training ring before rushing forward at Sylvain, who has the nerve to look like he was waiting.

Sylvain has the further audacity to merely twirl his lance in front of himself, flicking it up to pitch Felix's sword away at the last second. “You're so bad at hiding things when you're called out.”

“You're bad at reading the mood and keeping your mouth shut,” Felix growls. The redhead tries to get a thrust in under his guard, but Felix is faster and returns the favor of shoving the weapon up and over his head, ducking underneath.

Sylvain steps to the side and grabs the lance just above the tip, flipping it and bringing the not-pointy end back down as if he was swinging a sword as well. “I am never bad at reading a mood,” smacked smartly against Felix's ankle. “The mood is terrible, ever since Remire.”

Felix steps away, shaking his foot. “You had fun at the ball.”

“And then the Professor's dad died.” Sylvain sets the lance horizontal, propping it and his hands behind his head. “So. What's weirder than weird today that has your reaction time fuzzy?”

Rather than answering the question, Felix resets his feet in a starter stance. “Are you going to just let me kick your ass?”

“Threatening me when I haven't done anything yet. Let's see. We did have more bad news. Are you actually being mopey on His Highness' behalf?”

Felix's scowl deepens. “What?”

Sylvain heaves a dramatic sigh. “It's called sympa—” but he cuts himself off at the clueless look on Felix's face, frowning. “ _Saints_ , Felix. My life was so much easier when the two of you talked to each other.”

“We talk,” Felix retorts.

“Anwen died,” Sylvain replies.

An untrained eye is unlikely to catch the signs that a bird is ill, and even a trained one can have a hard time of it.

There is staff responsible for the royal mews just as there is for the stables, and according to Sylvain treatment had been administered as soon as the eagle had stopped eating, but Anwen had already been too weak.

She was Dimitri's by inheritance, since she had been from a breeder, but of course he was at the academy.

In short: it is not Dimitri's fault.

Felix thinks this when he walks by the bridge (is supposed to be walking by the bridge); somehow becoming instantly aware of a lone figure on its opposite side, close to the cathedral's end. Repeats it to himself as his feet alter their course. 

“I thought about giving her to your father, you know,” Dimitri exhales despondently to the open air after Felix comes to a stop a careful arm's-length away.

It's unfair. That they still know each other too well. That despite rarely carrying an actual conversation between just the two of them Felix does not have to say anything. Dimitri knows why he has suddenly decided to approach him, for once, when it's not to spar. He doesn't turn to face Felix, just stays leaning against the edge of the bridge. This could be considered improper, but he knows Felix wouldn't want to meet his eyes anyway, so it is kinder for them both.

So they stay standing perpendicular to each other, Felix facing him. “He would have declined.”

“You are right, of course.” A tiny, tiny smile ghosts over Dimitri's lips. Something melancholy and wishful. “I thought about hunting with her. After we graduated.”

Felix catches 'we' like the wrong end of a knife, his arms folding over his chest and his eyes flitting away as if Dimitri had actually turned his head. “It wasn't your fault.”

 _It's your uncles',_ he wants to add, but then Dimitri would just come up with some excuse for the regent, and Felix finds he does not want to argue. Rufus is unaware (uncaring) of many things. Not of the unrest within the Kingdom, of the birds, of how Dimitri really could (should) forego the rules and take the throne and have the peoples' support. Felix starts to inhale to grit something out along those lines, but his eyes go back to Dimitri and his lungs clench tight instead.

Really, he just wants someone to blame. Something to take his emotions out on.

It's unfair. That they are still their rawest in each other's presence.

It is not Dimitri's fault.

Felix is aware. Dreadfully aware of Dimitri's hands clenched knuckle-white around the squared top of the parapet. “I will write to my father to make certain he checks on the condition of the mews when he is next at Fhirdiad.” 

A slightly less sad smile, Dimitri's head turning slightly so that blue finally meets brown. “Thank you, Felix.”

Felix turns away to lean against the parapet. Just to break the eye contact.

He argues with himself.

\--------

For _five years_ he argues with himself. About wasting time between skirmishes looking and yet questioning if he is not chasing hard enough. About rumors being just rumors and rumors being—what?—a reason to hope? A reason to gain altitude again and then dive to inevitable loss and more death?

He shouldn't still have something to lose.

\--------

Felix's heart finds its way back into his throat when he spots the crows and vultures circling over the (maybe not) abandoned monastery. Sylvain and Ingrid need no encouragement to rush the rest of the way to the village that rests beneath its shadows, and suddenly they're surrounded by multiple people they figured they would never see again.

The last bandit slips off the end of Dimitri's lance with a hole in his chest about the size of the one Felix feels in his own. For years he had wanted Dimitri to magically change, but not like this.

The majority of the reunited Blue Lions are now accustomed to seeing both vultures and crows at this point. Both are classic examples of scavengers, so war is quite the feast. Circling vultures are a good way to locate dead bodies, and crows could herald the approach of a large force. Ravens would also follow armies like this, but they did not typically hang around in large numbers. That first night, Felix leaning against a pillar physically and mentally exhausted while Dimitri converses with ghosts, there are four crows roosting on the crumbling stone and wood of the cathedral roof. Felix watches with vague interest as one drops down to pick at a few of the stones strewn about the floor, but it startles back up high when the professor comes in.

Dimitri ignores them all.

More than a month later and the little group of birds lingers, long after the Blue Lions defeat the force that had been sent to investigate the new stirrings within the monastery walls.

“They do seem to hang around him,” Annette says at supper one day. “Do you think they've been following him since he started going after random Empire forces?”

Sitting across from the mage, Ashe gives Felix a wary glance down the table before answering. “They're pretty smart, but they were probably just living around here before we arrived.”

“I _swear_ one of them was practically standing on his boot when I walked by. I wonder if he was feeding them, when he was alone.”

“You think he had scraps of food that he was willing to share when he was probably hungry himself half the time?” Felix loudly grumbles under his breath.

Ashe casually throws a piece of potato that narrowly misses landing in Felix’s water. “What book did you read that had friendly animals in it, Annette?”

Annette puffs out her cheeks. “ _A lot_. You don't believe me?”

This is directed accusingly at Felix. Felix, who everyone knows spends too much time glaring at an unmovable back, and who has in fact noted that the crows are not very wary.

He stabs at his plate accusingly. “We've just supplied a buffet of food since we arrived. Like Ashe said.”

Annette makes it a point to visit the cathedral with leftovers from her own meal the next day. The fact that within minutes two of the crows are hopping about catching bits of rabbit she tosses doesn't prove much in Felix's opinion. Crows are smart, free food is free food, and he had yet to see an animal _not_ take to Annette like a fish to water.

Dimitri still ignores them all.

They all linger, just like the crows. They follow the boar out to the battlefield right along with the birds playing on the wind above their heads.

“Do you think His Majesty and I never had disagreements, never argued?” his father says on their way back from Ailell.

“I can't even talk to him,” Felix snarls back.

“He is _alive_ , Felix. We have all been through a lot. Be patient.”

It's not good enough.

But Felix has always struggled a bit with patience, hasn't he?

It doesn't matter. Dimitri is already lost, and you can't be patient for the dead to come back. Even...even if he entertains the idea that Dimitri is still there somewhere. He was only living for his vengeance, nothing more.

“Stop throwing away the _living_.” Felix's foot stomps so loudly that the crows wing away through the roof. “Did you feel _anything_ at the sight of Aegir's corpse on the bridge?”

Dimitri huffs something under his breath, and not for the first time Felix hates that now he wishes the other would look at him straight on. Instead, the single blue eye follows the flurry of black feathers above their heads. “So many lives have already been lost. There will be plenty more, but we won't lose all. And then all the dead will rest.”

Felix barely starts to take a contrary breath before Dedue appears at the other end of the room, two plates of food in his hands. Felix just shakes his head and leaves, exhausted mind wondering if their comrades could follow the crows as heralds of their discourse.

So Dimitri fights recklessly for the dead, and Felix fights recklessly for whatever he may have left.

No one has to tell him to do it, nor talk him into not straying far. He's aware of the billowing cloak and the tangled blond hair and every new scratch on that armor more than his own bruises and lacerations.

The crows wheel above their heads.

“You've been accumulating extra minor injuries,” the professor chides while they're cooling off after several rounds of sparring.

Felix frowns at the night sky. It's late, they march to Gronder Field in a matter of hours, and Felix has lost worse than usual. He is still grateful that the professor did not go easy on him despite his wincing over contact with a bruise that has refused to fade.

A faint tap to his shoulder jostles him, and he tilts his head back to see them watching him with some sort of knowing look. “Don't be reckless. We need to stick together.”

The next day—standing next to Dimitri and the professor, Dedue to their front and Ashe to their back and the others strewn about around them—Felix tries to tell himself that none of them are exactly thriving right now, but they are at least still living.

Life is cruel.

Felix misses death.

His father doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rl birds to fic birds:  
> Glenn's hawk/buzzard - Red-tailed Hawk  
> crows - American Crows, for that all black aesthetic
> 
> Imagine my horror when I remembered a “through the years” setup meant a whole chapter of angst. Anyway, we'll be drifting back to my usual...like reconciliation utilizing a group of crows, obviously. *jazz hands*
> 
> also I'm on bird app: [@o3QuillFeathers](https://twitter.com/o3QuillFeathers)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone should look at [KnowToastie](https://twitter.com/KnowToastie)'s wonderful art inspired by the [bridge scene](https://twitter.com/KnowToastie/status/1260980355638665217?s=20) in Chapter 2!
> 
> Crows are most often symbolic of death and bad luck and blahblahblah but they are also portrayed as signifying impending change, balance, and “living for now”. They are good birbs.

_A fluttering of warmth,_

_gradually rising._

  
Felix is twenty-three years old when he visits Fhirdiad alone for the first time (although visits really is not a good word to describe attempting to reclaim your capital city during a war).

The market was a mess. The whole city was, what with the recent uprising of its occupants against Cornelia followed by the even more recent clash of her forces and the true Kingdom army. Debris and blood was littered and scattered about the street; brick and wares askew in the wake of months of heightened struggle that had finally tipped over, like so many merchants' carts, into the final battle for the city.

In a way, the terrain of Felix's second childhood home had seemed more dangerous than Gronder Field and two opposing armies had. Moral was higher than it had been since everyone had reunited, but so were Fhirdiad's walls.

But they'd won. Cornelia was dead.

Now Dimitri carries his shoulders a bit higher, too.

However, Felix currently feels a bit like the market street. Memories and nostalgia fight for his attention, threatening his focus on the present while he stands just off the back of the huge palace balcony. The noise below; that of the hastily-gathered crowd greeting their returned king, is unsettling to his presently over-alert senses. He feels only a little less on edge than he had been several hours ago when it had been Dimitri and the professor—all of them—staring up at the walls where Fhirdiad's false ruling occupant had awaited them.

No, Felix is not alone, but he is acutely aware that he is the only Fraldarius present. He had very carefully made himself scarce when he'd heard Gilbert speaking of Dimitri greeting the congregating people. Traditionally, if present, Duke Fraldarius would make an appearance at the king's side. Not that this was a typical pre-planned gathering, but Felix tries to picture himself standing next to Dimitri in the place of Gilbert or the professor and inwardly cringes a bit. Governing Fraldarius territory is one thing. Being viewed as an adviser to the king was another. Felix certainly does not have his father's patience, or his inclination to the hopeful, or even on most days his simple decorum.

Right now Felix is far more comfortable just being the talons of the eagle. The deadly weapon.

And maybe the watchful eyes. 

There is a grim, short-listed trend of Fraldarius deaths and shifts in Dimitri's life. Felix knows there's talk of this. Of whether or not he will end up having to give up his life before the end of the war.

Felix does not plan on dying.

But.

Would he take a sword or lance or arrow or spell he knew would cost him his life—for Dimitri? He had thought on it clearly, after Gronder. After his father's death.

One could argue that standing here now, with no immediate threat and watching Dimitri's back as he leans over slightly to say something to the professor was one thing. That it was different in the moment. 

But Felix does not require the extra seconds not available on a battlefield to think about it.

It's not just that he is meant to stand at the king's side as duke and adviser. It's not that he is supposed to help keep Faerghus on its feet, because the kingdom needs a king and there is always a backup to a backup in the system, and Felix refuses to dwell on that line of thought.

And that's it.

It's just that it would be for Dimitri.

After returning to the monastery victorious at Gronder. After Felix had heard how his father had died ten different times in ten different tellings, and after the make-shift funeral, Felix had found Dimitri outside his door the next evening, hovering behind Annette. She had brought Felix dinner, threatening to give the food to the crows if he refused to eat it, and Felix had glared at her but accepted the meal. Annette had innocently carried one of her huge endearing smiles down the hall, leaving Felix and Dimitri awkwardly standing in Felix's old doorway.

It was not Dimitri's fault.

Glenn had chosen to be a knight of the Blaiddyd family.

Rodrigue had chosen to take the blade meant for Dimitri.

Felix, as angry and distressed as he'd been, _chose_ to stay in the Blue Lion house the entirety of the year at the academy, _chose_ to chase rumors of Dimitri being alive in the early years of the war, _chose_ to stick to Dimitri's side throughout every battle since.

Felix told Dimitri all this. 

“I had no right to drag you – to drag you all, along solely to appease my rage,” Dimitri had still apologized (again). “I have taken so many lives, Felix. I would not deny you a brief leave to go north if you feel—”

“We all have our own body count,” Felix challenged, stepping out into the hall. Dimitri took a step back, Felix reaching out to poke at his scratched armor. At his own. “You know me well enough, your rage could not keep me here if I did not want to be.”

When Dimitri's eye fell to the hand hovering in front of his chest Felix retreated, both hands going back to the plate of food he'd been balancing on one.

“Leave me alone so I can eat in peace,” he'd said heavily to the plate. “...but if you show up to the training grounds tomorrow morning I _might_ let you spar with me.”

“I would like that. It has...been a while.”

Dimitri's voice had sounded so light.

It's unfair. That they are now attempting to have some sort of relationship (friendship?) in the midst of war. Not just the battlefields in their own heads, but real fields and fortresses potentially sowed with their blood. The very setting that ripped them apart.

From the balcony, Dimitri glances back at Felix, mouth quirking up just slightly when their gazes meet. Where Felix stands he is in partial shadow, but he doubts he is imagining the red around the blue of Dimitri's eye.

He doesn't offer any sort of smile back, but he holds the contact until Dimitri turns back to the crowd.

They are both trying.

The next morning Felix's feet take him not to the training grounds, but to what's left of the mews. He finds that most of them remain standing, though with varying degrees of damage, and there are currently no feathered occupants. Wandering down the line, he wonders if there were any birds housed in them the morning prior, or if they'd been emptied for some longer period of time.

He wonders how much longer they will be empty.

He stops at the largest mew at the end of the row: Anwen's.

Dimitri joins him standing in front of it a minute or two later. “I see we are both nostalgic.”

Felix's arms cross. “I was here first.”

A shifting of feet on gravel. “I was looking for you, actually. When I found the training yard empty, my feet carried me here.”

Felix turns to find he's being watched. “What is it? Are we leaving for Alliance territory earlier than what was agreed on last night?”

Absolutely insane. They win back Fhirdiad and are forced to turn their attention across the continent in less than twelve hours. Because of course Dimitri chose to go to von Riegan's aid.

Dimitri glances at the empty space in the mew beside them, then back up at Felix. “The plans have not changed, no. I only...yesterday...it is appropriate...” he clears his throat, gaze sliding away a second time before coming back with a resolute glint that pins Felix in place. “I want to make certain that you know that I would prefer you to be standing beside me, next time. On the balcony.”

Felix doesn't hesitate. “I am not the best option to be standing there right now.”

“I question if I am the best option to be standing there as well,” Dimitri echoes with a self-critical smirk. “I have told you that I value your perspective. It is...comforting. Knowing that you will not be afraid to speak against me, nor against any idea that you take issue with, no matter who presents it. It sets my mind at ease. After we assist Claude and the Alliance there will surely be an increase in politically-focused councils. Sylvain cannot yet speak for Gautier, and I fear Gilbert is too conservative...”

Felix has the absurd notion that Dimitri is using _his future king voice_ on purpose.

“...outside of councils, it would be beneficial for the people to see us togeth—”

“Fine. I'll think about it.”

It's not always fine. Far from it. War counsels are not enjoyable. War in general is not enjoyable. Dimitri gets broody and melancholy while Felix is as short-tempered and blunt as ever, raising his voice quicker than anyone else around the table. These things had more or less already been occurring, however. What's different now is that when Felix goes to the training grounds after frustrating and stressful meetings it is Dimitri who joins him just as often as the professor does. So the training yard at Garreg Mach becomes some sort of secondary mediation room.

Felix is not the only one who picks up on this pattern.

As Garreg Mach is rebuilt there are fewer holes in the ceilings, but the training yard has always been open to the sky above.

Felix looks away for _two seconds_ one afternoon to inspect a cracked training sword on the weapons rack, only to turn back around to discover one of the crows has dropped down from the columned perimeter.

The bird is perched on the top edge of the Aegis Shield, Felix's vial of weapons oil clutched in its beak.

He lets out an exaggerated sigh, head tilting up and noting that the other three local residents are also lined up above him. Annette has named them: Peony, Aster, Rue, and Freesia. Not that they knew which were male or female, and not that most of them can even tell them apart. Felix supposes when they start to build nests they'll at least figure out the ratio.

“Drop that,” he tells the crow.

It knocks the vial against the shield.

Felix stomps a few paces closer. The bird crouches as if to take off to fly away. Felix stops too, groaning when the bird decides to use the shield as a table instead, holding the vial between its feet and stabbing at it. When it doesn't give up after a few jabs Felix crouches down a few paces away, placing his sword on the ground. Clicking his tongue, he puts one hand behind his back. It's a dumb idea, but if he can coax it close enough...

He gets one glance. The bird does not seem impressed, deciding the relic does indeed have more potential as a rock. Felix takes a breath to yell over the clanking.

“I am afraid your reflexes are not quite that fast, Felix.”

His eyes snap up to where Dimitri has appeared in the opposite archway, just long enough to scowl. “Do you have a better idea?”

“Be patient.”

He's disappeared when Felix belatedly glances up again. Only then does it occur to him that he had not been telling Felix to just sit and be patient until the bird got bored. Rather, he's likely just gone off to find some sort of item to trade for the stolen oil.

What a waste of time. The oil wasn't that important.

Felix contemplates throwing a practice sword like a javelin to startle the crow into dropping its prize.

The vial smacks against the shield again.

Felix is tired. He could abandon the oil and just go over sword forms in his room, alone. Instead he settles back, sitting on the ground. Defeated by a bird and Dimitri's unnecessary kindness. 

Menace.

It's not long before there's a flurry of activity from above. The other three birds seem to catch sight of Dimitri's returning form and immediately discern that he must have snacks. Felix watches with feigned disinterest while Dimitri walks right up to the shield and crouches in front of the thief, holding out a small bone. Felix isn't even fully back on his feet before the oil thuds to the ground, the trade of marrow for thick, magically-reinforced glass plucked directly from Dimitri's fingers. Snatching the vial up, Dimitri rises to his feet slowly enough that he does not startle the small flock now landing around them.

Turning, he shrugs at Felix's disapproving look. “They are only trying to survive.” 

“They eat plenty well enough just following you – us, around the continent,” Felix tsks.

One of the three additional crows lands near Felix and hops toward him, clearly wondering if he also has an offering. Felix pointedly walks past it, coming to a stop beside Dimitri and holding out a hand. The bird pointedly follows to poke at his heel with a muffled _cah_ before flutter-hopping to the others a few paces away instead. This dissolves the non-occupied trio into a cacophony of warbles and breathy caws until Dimitri produces another three pieces of bone.

Meanwhile the feathered thief leaves its Hero's Relic perch, parading ( _strutting_ ) over to Felix’s feet. As if daring him to try and steal the bone it now possesses. Felix rolls his eyes and taps his foot impatiently, managing to not make an affronted noise.

“Even if it is just scraps,” Dimitri teases. “A little kindness goes a long way.” Grinning at Felix's glare, he pointedly shakes the vial of oil before finally dropping it into his waiting palm. “Would you like to spar?”

Felix can feel his face grow hot as he tucks the vial under his discarded cloak on the steps. “Do you think I'm standing here because I enjoy you and a bunch of damn birds laughing at my expense?”

Dimitri starts across to the other side of the yard to pick a lance. “I did not force your friend to return the oil. We traded, but it _chose_ to do so. It could have flown away just as easily.”

Felix clearly hears the smile in his voice. It takes a moment for it to sink in, the notion that Dimitri is not really talking about the bird. Felix, who is now frozen half-way to picking up his sword, briefly considers retrieving the stupid vial so can throw it at him.

The crows chortle around them.

A handful of weeks later the birds above fall silent at the sound of Dimitri's back hitting the ground, Felix's foot on his knee and a practice sword held over his chest. They're both breathing heavily, covered in sweat and dust, and Felix is pretty sure they are going to get scolded if anyone like Ingrid or the professor walks by.

He is probably supposed to be lending an ear to Dimitri's concerns, the day before they leave for what is presumably the final campaign to Enbarr. Instead he's spent the late morning spitting curses and being (unreasonably, maybe) angry over the decision to meet the emperor before the battle.

Dimitri coughs, once, eye sliding up over Felix's head to look back at the crows that are staring down at them, a mockery of checking if they are okay...or if there's a threat below.

If there is, it's Felix's anxiety over losing something he thinks he has a tentative hold of again. It's not even necessarily the meeting. It's everything depending on one swing of a lance or axe. The risk of getting where they are and one or both or all of them dying.

After a few beats of silence Dimitri pushes himself up on his hands, nudging the sword away when Felix refuses to pull it back himself. “Feeling better?”

“No,” Felix spits, scrutinizing from the corner of his eye before walking away.

Dimitri's voice follows him. “Edelgard surely holds some respect for the professor, if not for myself. I truly do not believe she will attempt any sort of foul play.”

The sword rattles back into its place on the weapons rack. “You know it is a useless risk, I know you do.”

“That is...likely.”

Felix stalks back over. “Yet you will not change your mind! And the professor—”

“The professor understands why I feel I need to speak with Edelgard, even if it is futile,” Dimitri cuts in, making no move to get up but leveling a look at Felix that insists any responsibility is Dimitri's alone. “And I believe you do as well.”

Felix grits his teeth. He does know. He sort of hates that he knows. An effort to understand, maybe even save lives even if it means excessively putting his own on the line. It is very _Dimitri_. A Dimitri that he had thought he'd imagined at a much earlier point in his life, had thought he'd seen twisted into a nightmare and something unrecognizable.

A king. A good king.

Looking away, Felix reaches a hand out. “I don't like it.”

“I accept that you disagree,” Dimitri says from the floor, before taking the offering.

Nature and life may be cruel, but they both choose not to stay grounded.

At Dimitri's coronation, Felix stands at his side.

Two days later the crows inadvertently give Fódlan's new king his first bird.

Felix is supposed to be leaving the monastery to return to Fraldarius territory that afternoon. It's only been a few months since they won the war, but it feels like he's been spending just as much time traveling in a carriage now as he had been marching earlier in the year. He can't deny that the former is much more comfortable, but it was a lot simpler to just get on a horse or one's two feet and _go_.

This morning there are several carriages preparing to leave, cases and supplies being loaded before their passengers. There's also an absolute ruckus occurring at a tree just down the road. The crows are unafraid to challenge and chase off potential predators from their territory, going as far as dive-bombing hawks and eagles in midair. Several attendants are watching the birds bounce around, but Felix doesn't stop and really look until he realizes the larger form on the ground isn't making much of an effort to leave.

Curiosity gets the better of him.

About half-way out he can tell that something is wrong. The eagle is the same species as Anwen, but a juvenile. The golden feathers that are confined to an adult's head spill down onto this one's upper back and even onto the upper portion of its wings. The contrast of the rest of its dark feathering is beautiful, and Felix's doesn't see any blood, but the left wing is drooping in an unnatural position. Judging by how hard the eagle is panting and how it doesn't at least try to run at his approach, Felix assumes it is also exhausted.

Still, a human is viewed as a worse threat than the smaller birds. The high-pitched screaming the eagle starts up when he's close has Felix briefly fumbling the clasp on his cloak while the eagle lumbers a few ungraceful steps away. It seems too worn out to actually leap up off the grass.

“Give it a rest already,” Felix huffs when one of the crows bounces off the larger bird's back. They were just being defensive, the eagle barely flinching at the contact, but a lucky pass could still damage an eye. 

Billowing fabric is enough of a distraction to ward off a second pass, and it gets marginally quieter when the cloak drops over the injured bird's head. The crows (who continue to announce to the world that there's a predator around with every noise in their repertoire) are courteous enough to cease their diving while Felix grabs the eagle's legs from behind, pinning the good wing in with his arm to lift it up. There's a brief struggle where he almost gets smacked in the face by the injured wing, but he manages to get an arm under enough to support that one too. This is about as far as Felix's plan really goes, but he's spared an awkward walk alone to find a healer when Ingrid comes jogging past the carriages.

“Alive?” she asks simply when she reaches them, glancing up at the loud escort.

Felix nods. He can feel the rise and fall of the chest underneath his hands where he's holding the bird's feet up. He can also feel the sharp edge of its keel, the bone stark within the center of the breast, which means that the bird is half-starved. A juvenile this late in the autumn would need more meat on it to survive the winter.

The crows disperse only when they're inside. Felix doesn't really think about how they are sort of treating the situation like he is carrying an injured soldier until Mercedes (lucky again, that she had also been heading to the carriages) is gently running her hand along the bone of the eagle's drooping wing in a corner of the reception hall.

Well. The war is still fresh on their minds.

At the feeling of healing magic the eagle squirms a bit, but otherwise the cloak over its eyes acts as a shield against the change in environment. Ingrid is good at giving the few people that glance at them a warning look to keep walking, and it's early enough in the day that most are eating or packing, so it's relatively quiet.

Mercedes' mouth is pressed in a thin line as the spell fades. “I think it broke a bone at some point, and it hasn't healed correctly.”

“It's a young bird,” Felix supplies.

“There is range of motion, but not as much as there should be.” Mercedes stretches the wing out slowly. The limb doesn't straighten completely, but the stretch also does not seem to cause the eagle pain. “If it happened at a young enough age the wing might just be stunted, but it probably can't be fixed now.”

Grimacing, Felix tries to dredge up knowledge he hasn't put to use or refreshed in years. Eagles would eat carrion if they needed to, but the weather was turning cold now. The coming snow would make carcasses harder to find, and eagles typically could soar for hours a day looking for food.

Starvation is a slow death.

“Is there anything else wrong with it?” Ingrid asks.

Mercedes strokes a few of the exposed feathers on the drooping wing back into place. “I'm no animal specialist, but my magic didn't react to any internal injury. Just a few cuts from the crows.”

“So it's survived until now just on luck and limited flight.”

Felix refocuses to find Ingrid looking at him. His eyes narrow in suspicion. The bird is getting way too heavy for him to stand around and hold, despite how calm it is.

“Didn't you have a bird when you were younger, Felix?” Mercedes asks.

“I did. But not an eagle.”

Ingrid is still looking at him like she can read his train of thought and is having too much fun with it. “It'll die in the cold."

“Wipe that look off your face and go find a crate or something that's big enough so it can rest, Ingrid.”

She waves a hand at him and starts off to do as asked, but now Mercedes has that smile on her face that Felix has learned means she is plotting.

It's a bad idea. That's not to say the idea had not crossed his mind: getting a bird. On his first trip home as head of the house, he'd stood in front of the two mews at the (his) manor and debated whether or not to repair them. He had decided to do so, but he had had a falcon in mind. One he could train to hover and hunt with on his own, perhaps the next autumn when things were hopefully settled a bit.

“Didn't King Lambert—” Mercedes starts.

“No,” Felix says.

The bird is not in good shape. It could be dead in two days. Even if it makes it through the next couple of days, it would be weeks before it was strong enough to really see how well it could fly. Besides, eagles are notorious for being stubborn and willful. Felix trained one bird. One. And Dimitri never had his own. Not that he had not flown birds. Or swapped books with Felix in their childhood.

Mercedes is patiently waiting.

Felix shifts his feet. “Yes. He had an eagle.”

A minute passes.

“His Majesty's birthday is coming up.”

Felix doesn't answer, staring at the entryway impatiently for Ingrid to reappear. Not that she was likely to rescue him. Suppose the bird did live and could fly well enough for hunting. If Felix had a mountain of duties to attend to for the foreseeable future then Dimitri had a mountain _range_ worth. Dimitri doesn't need to train a bird, he could get any species from any prestigious breeder basically anytime he desired.

Mercedes clasps her hands in front of herself. “If I remember correctly, hawking is considered as good a show as any other hunt for visiting delegations. But more importantly, it would be good for him, and for you, to have the means to escape work every once in a while. Just an idea.”

Ingrid comes back with a crate and a rabbit leg she purchased from the market. While she and Mercedes locate a healer more practiced in animal health Felix twirls one fallen dark feather between his fingers, listening to the eagle eat.

He tries not to think of Dimitri divulging that he enjoys hawking because he likes being outside. Of the sun reflecting gold off Dimitri's hair and Anwen's feathers. Of an uncertain but excited prince being completely enamored with a small falcon perched on his arm.

Later, when the crate is strapped securely on the bench across from Felix's own seat in the carriage, Ingrid makes a comment about an eagle returning to Fhirdiad.

Her smile only widens when Felix shuts the door in her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rl birds to fic birds:  
> eagle – Wedge-tailed Eagle again, the juveniles are so pretty!
> 
> PSA take injured wildlife to a licensed rehabilitator, but if you ever find yourself transporting a large bird of prey the feet are the real murder weapons so cover the head and grab the feetsies above the ankle if you don't have something big enough to make a bird burrito. (wow I'm embarrassing)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author panics over writing the ending of a character study(?). Remembers months later to just focus on the giant, layered onion of an analogy/metaphor instead.

_Alight in love,_

_heart's roost._

  
The eagle is not a secret.

Not a surprise, since plenty of people had seen Felix carrying the injured animal at the monastery, but he had not thought it would turn into some grand tale shared around even his own estate.

It's female, based on the weight, though she is not as large as Anwen was. After a healer sees her and she is set up in the largest mew at the Fraldarius manor, Felix leaves her to gain weight and adjust to the new environment. He admittedly spends a significant amount of his lax time there, even if just to stand outside while reading papers.

The house staff figures this out as fast as the crows had figured out Dimitri carried snacks around. More than once, after the eagle is fitted with equipment and getting accustomed to the glove, Felix catches others giving the pair of them second glances. He nearly scares the poor cook's son to death just making eye contact one evening, and has to endure his mother's unnecessary apology later when the child thinks he is somehow in trouble for “bothering the king's bird”.

Fraldarius and Blaiddyd working together again. Fraldarius and the Savior King and an eagle, heralding the new age. The newest Duke Fraldarius gifting the newest King Blaiddyd an eagle for his premier peace-time birthday, promising to uphold said peace at his side. 

Even Gilbert sends his remarks, going on about the symbolism, and how glad he is that _Felix_ is making such a gesture.

When that particular letter arrives Felix lets the eagle shred it, smiling to himself while little pieces of parchment fall to the desk from where she sits on the glove, her talons puncturing holes into the parchment.

Dimitri writes letters too, the two months between Felix taking the bird in and Dimitri's birthday. He asks about it in the third. Felix rolls his eyes at the apology included for Dimitri having found out. A stablehand had asked a kitchen maid if the stories were true, who then asked a knight who had happened to have been recently transferred from the monastery. The royal kitchens are of course where all stories came and went, and where all thinly veiled secrets died.

And that was that.

Felix has not exchanged letters regularly with Dimitri in a long, long time, and while they are neither the disjointed scrawls of their childhood nor the stiff caution of their early adolescence, it is also nice to not exclusively talk of rebuilding hardships and politics. So Felix replies with a long additional note about the eagle’s progress, and how Dimitri is lucky that she seems to be of good temperament.

Mostly.

Being young meant that the eagle lets Felix touch her more readily than an adult who has lived wild for years, but it also means she is brazen. Early on, when she is just learning to spend significant time on the glove, Felix earns multiple bites for not being quick enough in handing her food. She is also curious. Interested in everything from paper to each new person that enters Felix's office. Here is where Felix's impatience gets the better of him, ending a training session or two early because she is more interested in something else. Not that watching her learn the world isn't rewarding; when she does not balk at dogs or a distant shout or doesn't flinch at a pegasus passing overhead.

So she is not ready for a real hunt when Dimitri's birthday rolls around, but Felix takes her to the capital anyway just to get the attention off of himself. His stay is scheduled to be a week long. Plenty of time for the bird and Dimitri to get acquainted.

Dimitri has insisted on only celebrating with close friends this year, but he knows Felix and the eagle are coming. The guard that greets them at the back entry takes them straight to the mews.

Felix is surprised to find Dimitri waiting there. He recovers by gesturing at the knight to hand over the additional package that he had grabbed from the carriage before Dimitri can open his mouth.

“As promised,” he greets, saving himself from the embarrassment of whatever Dimitri had been about to say.

In his last letter, sent a week prior, he'd warned Dimitri that he had already ordered a new glove for him. It had been simple to ask the professor for the measurements, using the records from the war, and he had had the notion that Dimitri had not even thought about the need for one. Nevermind that Felix had also not thought about it until he’d been back home. 

He had used his father's glove while he waited for his new one, spending an entire evening greasing the leather and making sure it had not cracked.

It hadn't.

The king accepts the parcel in silence, nodding to the knight in dismissal. Felix turns his attention to the newly-repaired enclosure they have been led to. The wood is not entirely new, but the perching is. He pretends to inspect it as if it were his job and not the carpenter's who had surely made sure it was perfect while Dimitri opens the other half of his gift.

Felix feels jittery. Running off to the training yard is not exactly an option at the moment. He tucks his elbow to his side to steady the arm the eagle is perched on. 

“I greased it already, but you'll have to stretch it by wearing it.”

“Of course,” Dimitri replies softly. “Thank you, Felix.”

Felix drags his eyes back over and up, crossing his free arm over his chest. “Happy birthday.”

“She is beautiful." Dimitri looks...excited. And nervous, tracing the stitching along the thumb of the glove. "I assume that you are weary of hearing about...this...but I trust that you know this is very meaningful to me.”

“I don't want to hear it again.”

The eagle turns her head to follow the sound of Dimitri chuckling, while Felix changes the topic by stepping into the mew. Dimitri follows, watching as Felix removes the hood covering the eagle’s head. Instantly alert, she stands taught and takes in the new surroundings, head weaving to look around. It's cold but sunny out, the space well-lit, and it is not so different from the one at Fraldarius. Her focus quickly falls to the glove now on Dimitri's left hand instead.

“I trust you remember how to handle a bird?” Felix asks. “Arm a branch?”

“Arm steady. Do not sway. Be a tree.” Dimitri echoes. Lines from a long-ago childhood lesson.

“Should be easy for you,” Felix murmurs. He turns himself away slightly, nodding for Dimitri to raise his gloved arm.

Birds have an easier time stepping up than down. Felix still lightly grasps Dimitri's elbow when the first taloned foot lifts. The eagle steps without hesitation, Felix letting his hand fall away when he feels the muscle of Dimitri's arm tense to accommodate the weight.

“She is truly striking, Felix. It is a shame, that she cannot fly as high as she should.” Dimitri says quietly, eye drifting to the side when the eagle looks at him.

They are standing so close Felix has to step back to get a good look too. “At least she lives. And will still have a good life.”

There are more golden feathers on the juvenile than Anwen had had.

Dimitri doesn't need the extra light reflecting on him.

The bird is briefly interested in the fur lining Dimitri's cloak, head cocking to the side and almost turning upside down, but goes back to simply watching Dimitri with a disregarding shake of her head.

“You have not named her?” Dimitri asks, shifting his weight under the combined attention.

“And let the populace spin tales and meanings behind a name I chose?” Felix leans dismissive against the wall. “No thanks, that's your job. And don't forget to tuck the jesses in your glove.”

Color blooms on Dimitri's cheeks, empty hand rising quickly to bring the leather attached to the eagle's ankles around, pinching the strips between his middle and ring fingers. An unnecessary precaution since they are standing in an enclosed space, but one that had to be automatic in the fields.

Felix notes feathers just barely start to rise on the nape of the bird's neck at the approach of a new hand, much like a dog's hackles would, but they fall flat again as soon as she realizes that Dimitri is not moving to touch her directly. Truthfully, they are both lucky that she is mild-mannered. They can take things slowly as she continues to gain muscle mass from steady good meat, and even though the whole damn kingdom knows she exists, there is no imminent pressure otherwise.

“You have been calling her something, surely,” Dimitri presses.

Felix takes his glove off. “Stubborn. Persistent.”

Dimitri and the eagle regard each other silently for a moment. “Perhaps Tenacity, then. Shall we write an official decree, to satisfy the speculations of it?”

Felix raises an eyebrow with a huff. “Speaking of. I'm surprised you managed to greet me like this.”

Dimitri shifts his weight again. “I made sure to push a few extra tasks through yesterday.”

Which meant that he had not slept much, if at all. Felix gives him a look.

Dimitri smiles innocently at the eagle, gaze already fond.

And _still_ , they should probably head inside.

But the weather is good, and Tenacity is comfortable.

They lose track of time until a runner from the kitchens appears to tell them supper is ready.

It's not especially difficult to eclipse Felix's previous visits to the capital (outside of his childhood) but he departs smiling at the end of the week, which is something.

Sylvain points out that last part as they are riding side-by-side, heading back north.

Felix tries to tell him it's only the thought of Dimitri discovering the extra instructions he'd left on his desk, in regards to keeping up with Tenacity's training, but that just makes Sylvain laugh.

\--------

Fostering a new relationship with a bird takes time. Sometimes there is no measurable improvement day to day, and sometimes there is a sudden, great stride.

The next time he's in the capital (right after his own birthday), Felix enters Dimitri's office to find Tenacity perched by the window. Dimitri had told Felix he'd sometimes been bringing her there, to continue to acclimate her to people and noises.

And because it was nice to not be left alone, the days he dedicated solely to paperwork and reading.

Aware of the bird's comfort level and not wanting to make her nervous, Felix manages to not raise his voice at all that first day despite the barrage of pompous nobility demands that Dimitri repeats to him.

Later on in the day, Dimitri recounts with untethered happiness the first time Tenacity had roused while sitting on his glove, and how just the day before she had allowed him to lift one of her feet to check the condition of the pads on the underside of her toes. He tries to replicate the latter with Felix watching, but he also has a quill in his hand, and Tenacity plucks it from his fingers.

There's no harm done. The feather easily slides from her beak when Dimitri grabs the inked end of the quill. Tenacity even still lets her foot be lifted carefully by a talon while he tries to hold back his amusement and embarrassment.

Felix hides his smirk behind the letter he's holding.

Dimitri _hugs_ him, after giving him his belated birthday gift: a commissioned, ornate silver hunting dagger. There's a tiny falcon etched into the sheath, and an eagle into the handle.

It’s there—hesitantly placing an arm around Dimitri’s broad back—that Felix suddenly realizes that they are comfortable around each other.

He does not know exactly when this happened.

He tells Dimitri they better be taking Tenacity hunting when he next visits in spring.

Felix arrives at Dimitri's office on their chosen afternoon to find Dedue also waiting outside. The door is closed, the guards remaining immobile at Felix's approach, which meant that some meeting or another was keeping the king occupied over its allotted time.

Not that that is uncommon.

Felix nods in greeting, trying and failing to remember where talks of Duscur are within the day's schedule. He has been busy double-checking that the stables and rooms are prepared for the arrival of Gloucester the next day. They were supposedly bringing a mountain of news from his spies within Almyra.

A laugh sounds from behind the door, overpowering Dimitri's much quieter one. Felix shares a glance with Dedue again, who crosses the hall to join him.

“He is in a good mood,” Dedue says.

If there is any topic the two of them can talk plenty on, it is their king.

Felix scoffs. "I'll refrain from barging in for three minutes.”

“You would only embarrass yourself if you did. He's just had Tenacity brought up from the mews, to save you both time.” 

Felix's gaze flicks away to the door, disbelieving. “While keeping you waiting?”

“No. I am only here making sure you were not going to leave _him_ waiting. He has been looking forward to this.”

Since the war ended, Felix has found that Dedue laughs with his eyes.

Like now, this often results in Felix ineffectively glaring at him. “Of course not. I had to convince him to still go out.” He can hear his voice turn bitter. “He'll already likely be up all night worrying about tomorrow's roundtable.”

“Yet he is also laughing, thanks to you somehow finding a spare two hours today.” 

“Only possible because you and the Archbishop somehow arrived from the Monastery yesterday, two days early.” Nevermind that Felix had skipped his usual evening training to assist Dimitri with the early arrival of more work.

“The Archbishop hears things.”

“Crows fly faster than horses run.”

During public audiences, it was typical of the king to have the resident vulture symbolically perched somewhere in the throne room. Before Dimitri's coronation, it was often a joke among their friends that maybe the crows would follow him to Fhirdiad and stay there. They had not, which was fine in Felix's opinion. The professor (now Archbishop) liked them, and they could terrorize Seteth. They were also turning out to be good messengers, flying between the monastery and Fhirdiad (and soon the Duscur Peninsula, where Dedue would soon be traveling).

Dedue shrugs. "We have all been working hard, and can help each other not drown in it.

The office door opens, the head stable groom bowing his way out.

“His Majesty enjoys the time you spend together,” Dedue adds. “It is nice to see the feeling returned."

Felix would snap back, but Dimitri follows the groom out, so he snaps his mouth shut instead.

It's still early in the season. The wind is harsh, grass just starting to push through the thawing, snow-dusted ground. Felix kicks at the dirt and shrubbery as he walks, rustling evergreen branches in the early morning light. Dimitri and Tenacity wait up on a hill, three knights on the other side of it.

Familiar territory.

At the fourth tree, a hare bolts, its fur still white for camouflage against the snow. Felix turns to yell over his shoulder, but Dimitri's reflexes are excellent.

Tenacity's shadow hurtles down the sloping hill ahead of her.

Then there’s a second, larger flurry of movement slightly ahead and further to the right. It’s not the brilliant white of a second hare, but the burnished red of a fox that appears from seemingly nowhere.

Young hunters are more prone to failure, and injuries resulting from them. Bad at choosing prey and learning their capabilities still. It’s one of the many reasons Tenacity would have struggled through the winter on her own, deformed wing and all.

She has also known starvation and struggle, and animals do not forget that feeling.

Felix sees the shift in her tail feathers, the subtle tilt to the right that indicates a change in direction.

She goes after the fox.

Whether it’s out of defense of her food or the notion that the fox itself is also food doesn’t matter. Foxes are fine quarries, especially for their pelt, but they are also dangerous. Hare can kick and thrash and injure, but fox can kill.

Cursing under his breath, Felix’s feet are moving before realization is done running through his mind. The seconds drag like the lingering pull of cold air in his lungs. Tenacity throws her wings out just shy of colliding with the fox, a beautiful lashing of her talons in a twist that makes contact with its left flank.

Felix hops over a log as the fox yelps and lunges back. Both animals go tumbling in a flurry of red and flashing gold. Teeth snap at a leg. Feathers bend as they roll. Tenacity comes up with only one foot still sunk in, making a grab with the other for the mouth that could easily herald her death.

Then the fox must spot Felix, who is just a handful of meters away now, dagger already drawn. It hauls itself up, dragging Tenacity a few steps. Unable to get balance enough to re-anchor both feet, the eagle topples forward, her other foot wrenched free of fur.

The fox is high-tailing it toward nearby shrubbery, long out of reach just a moment later when Felix squats down in front of a panting Tenacity. She tries to peer around him, head bobbing to try and pinpoint exactly the route her prey has fled. It’s a comical look, but it means she’s still thinking about chasing.

“You’re not ready for that,” Felix tells her, offering the glove.

He could force her to step up using the jesses laying prone at her feet, but they are meant for emergencies. Because of her bad wing, there is no way Tenacity can gain the altitude to catch up to the fox. Felix gives her the choice.

This is why one spends days sitting with a bird. Weeks just flying from glove to glove to tree and back. The fox is a big prize, and Tenacity is hungry, but Felix (and the glove) represent safety and a guarantee of a meal. Even if she missed.

Despite seeing Felix less often, she still trusts him. She steps to the glove, breathing hard but otherwise looking unharmed.

Felix turns to find Dimitri watching them, hair windswept and eye bright.

“Eyes too big for her stomach,” he says, smiling.

Felix throws him a scathing look. “I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s your eagle.”

“Hmm,” Dimitri replies. He has that look on his face again. The fond one with the soft little smile. The one that makes Felix want to swallow heavily and hold his breath. “I was going to suggest that she takes after you. Pushing her limits.”

On Felix’s arm, Tenacity rouses, shaking all her feathers back into place. A bit of down feathering falls from her. There are no large primary wing or tail feathers left hanging broken or bent, so she is ready to go again. She peers at Dimitri’s gloved left hand intently, looking for her next cue.

“Shall I flush our next attempt?” Dimitri asks.

Felix stands, looking in the direction the fox had gone. He is not surprised when Tenacity’s attention snaps back to the shrubbery too in response. “Not here. She’s too stubborn. Might stake out a perch and leave us waiting below for hours, thinking the fox will reappear.”

“Well now, if it is stubbornness,” Dimitri chuckles, still smiling despite the end to the trip. “I think we both must take credit for influencing her.” He turns his back to rifle through the pouch at his hip, and Tenacity hones in on the movement. Felix feels her weight shift fully back to them, then, because a free meal on a favorite, trusted perch is always better than a fight.

Felix doesn't know why he was worried. Dimitri has always had more patience than him.

At least they were still able to enjoy a morning outside.

On the second try, two days later, they return to the castle with two pheasants.

Dimitri tortures Felix by making him take the first bite of their resulting dinner the next day.

Summer brings the best weather for traveling outside of the frequent rain, which brings too many delegations and meetings. Festivals, too, which are at least somewhat more enjoyable.

For the first time in years, Fhirdiad seems alive.

Tenacity starts to molt her juvenile feathers, trading much of the gold spilling down her back for shimmering dark bronze and browns. Felix drags Dimitri down to the mews at least once a week to fly her between them, but otherwise they leave her to grow in the new plumage.

Sometimes she still keeps Dimitri company in the office, more often so when Felix is also there. When Tenacity tucks her head for the evening it's a good excuse for a break, or even to get Dimitri to call it a night. Dimitri is definitely not blind to the ploy, but he lets it happen, and they develop a habit of walking down to the mews together.

“I had an interesting offer today,” he says one evening as they walk together. “A sculptor requesting to use Tenacity as a model.”

Felix, carrying said bird, glances over. “Seems harmless.”

Dimitri suspiciously avoids eye contact. “I thought that perhaps I could request a second be made. We could mount it on one of the...”

Tenacity's grip on the glove tightens because Felix stops so fast, tail flaring for balance. “Don't you _d_ —”

Dimitri bursts into laughter, his shoulders shaking.

A guard passing behind them pauses to look over.

Felix stares at Dimitri a moment before walking briskly away, his face warm. He hasn't gone a week the whole summer without hearing some reference to his role. A note on his success. A musing that he has changed. A remark about how well he works with Dimitri.

A comment on the pair of them.

He doesn't hate it—most of the time. They have earned where they are at now.

But he finds the focus more irritating, coming from Dimitri.

Dimitri catches up to him almost immediately, not that the king should be seen chasing after his short-tempered adviser. He waits patiently outside the mew while Felix removes Tenacity's jesses. “I apologize. I rather thought you would find amusement at that.” He holds his hand out silently for the jesses when Felix rejoins him, mouth stuck between a frown and a line of uncertainty.

“It's fine. I'm tired.”

“Ah.”

Felix doesn’t want him to feel bad. Not really. He still manages to be lost in his head for long enough to be four steps back the way they came before he realizes Dimitri has not fallen back to his side. He feels a twinge of guilt. Stops and turns around, waiting.

They are both probably tired.

“This summer has been enjoyable,” Dimitri says thoughtfully, still not starting to walk. He tucks the jesses away and looks back to Tenacity within her enclosure. “But I find that I miss the hunting outings...more than I expected I would.”

“Summer is short.” Felix takes a step back toward him. “Tenacity has almost all of her new feathers in. Maybe we'll have an early snowfall, too, and it'll chase the southern lords away.”

Dimitri sighs. A nearby torch's flickering glow casts shadows on his features. “Perhaps.”

Felix stops in front of him, arms crossed. “What.”

Oh.

It's not just the torch.

Dimitri is _blushing_ , when he looks back at Felix. Turns to face him.

“Felix,” he starts.

It has been a while since Felix's heart has tried to leap out of his chest. Meanwhile, Dimitri seems to stop inhaling mid-breath, only to start talking again at the same time Felix does.

“—I want—”

“What do—”

Another guard walks past the end of the enclosure line. Or maybe it’s just a stablehand, Felix isn't paying that close attention at the moment and the detail escapes him. He and Dimitri both stop speaking until they have passed by as if the two of them are children at risk of being caught scheming.

“I enjoy our time together outside of...our work. Very much.” Dimitri restarts. “Outside of the offices. Outside in general, I suppose, but that is not my point.”

Felix thinks of the firelight producing warmth on Dimitri's face. Of the pair of them out alone outside the city, Dimitri smiling and his hair windswept. Of the increasing frequency of his smile.

“I. Could try harder to find time.” He clears his throat, off-kilter. “If you wanted. Just ask.”

Dimitri takes on the same look he wore when Felix gifted him the eagle. The excited and nervous one. Except this time he's reaching for Felix's hand.

“I am not speaking only of finding more time at the training grounds.” He pulls Felix's hand up to cradle it against his chest. “And...only if you want.”

“If I want,” Felix manages a smirk but not eye contact. “You brought up childhood whimsy. Am I not yours?”

A laugh tries to bubble up in Dimitri’s chest. Felix feels him smother it, but he also squeezes Felix’s hand gently. “I, ah, do remember saying that. Wishing it in the way you imp—. In the way that I think you are implying, years later. Now.”

Felix looks at him again. Uncurls his fingers slowly across Dimitri's sternum like he's checking a bird's body condition—it's health. To make sure it is not hiding illness or injury, because they are so, so good at doing so.

“I chose you a long time ago,” he murmurs. “I thought that was obvious.”

Dimitri exhales.

Felix’s face might catch fire if he keeps talking. He clenches his hand in Dimitri's shirt, pulling him down to press their lips together.

From within the mew, Tenacity rouses in contentment, tucking a foot up in rest.  


\--------

In late summer of Imperial Year 1188, there is a second bird at Fhirdiad.

Dimitri radiates giddy joy from where he is standing directly behind Felix, who is standing frozen just inside the door of the mew next to Tenacity’s.

It's a vulture. A species that Felix would not have thought he would ever see in person, and certainly not ever here. If his memory is right, it is known simply as the Mountain Vulture. The other common name he recalls is Bone Eater. Its wings are darker than Tenacity's, but her (it must be female, it is so large) front and head are a striking mix of reds and yellows, right down through the feathers almost covering her feet. Her eyes are masked in black skin, rimmed in red, face bare of feathers like most other vultures.

“Most will not know the, uh, rather dark nickname for the species,” Dimitri prompts.

“They don't need to, she is intimidating enough.” Felix says, still astonished. “But I can think of at least two lords that will not be pleased with a bird from Almyra sitting beside your throne.”

Dimitri brings Felix's glove around them both, an invitation and obvious diversion. “It is not as if Almyra gifted her to me. I merely asked Claude to point me in the right direction.”

Felix rolls his eyes but takes the glove. The bird stares at it a moment before deciding it is acceptable. She is easily the heaviest bird Felix has had on his arm, but she sits calmly and doesn't fuss, delicately picking at the shards of broken bone Dimitri also hands over.

“She’s gorgeous.” Felix laughs. “You’ll have to make sure the perch in the throne room is sturdy enough to hold her when she spreads her wings.” He walks her around the original perch and to the back corner, where there is a shelf to place the food. She steps off without further prompting. “I'm surprised Claude didn't try to offer her as a gift when you signed the treaty last month.”

Dimitri coughs. “Yes. Well. She is not for me.”

Felix turns.

Dimitri is standing very straight, hands behind his back.

A huge, bright smile on his face.

Eyes widening, Felix looks quickly back at the vulture, who is very much ignoring them both now, and then back at the king. “It's not my birthday. Not even close.”

“The people do not care which bird is called mine or yours. We are bringing in a new age, have already altered and eliminated a number of useless and nonsensical policies. She can sit beside us both.”

It's not about Felix's image, or what other nobility think of _him_. Dimitri must know that. Felix is half-way across the space between them, not quite sure how he's going to argue—

Dimitri pulls out a ring.

Felix freezes. What Dimitri had just said—breaking traditions and policies, the bird sitting beside them _both_ —suddenly takes on a different, much more personal significant meaning.

“I can never say it enough,” Dimitri says. “How much I love you.”

“The vulture is a proposal,” Felix states unhelpfully.

Dimitri grins at him. “If you do not mind taking up another role.”

Felix tries to scoff. It comes out more like a choked breath.

And it's second nature; to extend his hand.

They both stare at the simple metal band perched on his finger for a handful of seconds until the scratching of talons on wood behind him jostles them both. Felix looks over his shoulder to see the huge vulture cleaning off her beak, scraping it along the edge of the platform that she had been eating on.

“I am so pleased that you like her. I knew that I wanted a bird, but did not want to choose an eagle for you.” Dimitri lifts Felix’s hand, kissing the ring. “You are my eagle, yes, but so much more.”

Felix ponders vulture symbolism: Wisdom. Protection. The balance between life and death.

He pointedly keeps his hand in Dimitri's. “You're a sentimental fool.”

Dimitri smiles very unapologetically, dipping his head and tugging Felix closer.

Felix rises to meet him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rl birds to fic birds:  
> The vulture in this chapter is based on a Bearded Vulture, also known as the Lammergeier and also also known as “dragons” in uh, the birder...world. Most of their diet is literally bones and marrow, how awesome is that?!
> 
> To those who have followed along with this fic – Thank You! This one's a bit special to me (hello, ask me about birds), so I really appreciate all the engagement and interest in the niche worldbuilding. Thanks for reading!
> 
> multishipping nerd on bird app: [@o3QuillFeathers](https://twitter.com/o3QuillFeathers)


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